Rose City Kill Zone

by D L Barbur

  “Not sure,” I said. “Stay here.”

  I stepped out into the gravel. It was quiet outside, and I didn’t see anyone.

  Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I saw something between the parked vehicles and walked over to where I could see, my hand automatically going to my pistol.

  It was Henry. There was a neat hole in his forehead, and a spray of blood, skull fragments and brain matter all over the cars on either side of him.

  “Dent?” Alex called from behind me.

  I turned to look back at her, and that’s when the bullet hit me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The bullet hit my upper left arm. It felt like I’d been smacked with a bat. I half fell, half dove for cover between the two vehicles. Another bullet hit the fender of the car to my left. I rolled under the SUV to my right. The ground clearance was just high enough for me to fit.

  A guy in combat gear was out in the pasture, holding a stubby little carbine with a suppressor screwed to the barrel. He moved and I lost sight of him because of my limited field of view under the car.

  There was blood all over my arm and chest. I felt detached from what was happening. There was blood pouring out of my arm. I found an entrance wound on the outside of my bicep, and an exit on the inside. There were no jagged shards of bone poking out which, I took to be a good sign, despite the fact that my arm was limp and lifeless. I felt a tingle like a mild electric shock but no pain yet.

  I took a deep breath and realized my chest hurt. The bullet had gouged across the front of my pectoral muscle after it exited, leaving a bloody and wide but shallow wound. Oddly, it hurt more than my arm.

  There was a combat dressing in the cargo pocket of my pants. I squirmed to find it. The front differential of the SUV dug into my cheek as I contorted myself.

  “Dent?” Alex yelled from inside the bunkhouse.

  “Take cover!” I yelled. “There’s a guy out here with a rifle.”

  A couple of shots hit the ground, spraying me with gravel but not hitting me. The guy was trying to skip rounds under the SUV. If it had been a paved lot, it might have worked.

  I felt cold and sick to my stomach. It felt like my arm was waking up. It wasn’t so much that it hurt, as I could tell it was going to start hurting any second now.

  I managed to get the bandage unwrapped, and around my arm. I pulled it tight with my teeth, and that’s when the pain hit. It was like that extra little bit of stimulation was all it took to open up the floodgates.

  “Ahhhh,” I said. I wasn’t even articulate enough to curse.

  I heard rounds hit the sheet metal of the SUV, and more skipped into the gravel. I saw a pair of legs run by but had no idea who they belonged too. I had to get out of here, no matter how much it hurt.

  The SUV was parked with its nose towards the bunkhouse. If I could squeeze out under the front bumper, I’d be in the dead ground between the SUV and the bunkhouse. I had no idea what was going on. The firing would slacken for a few seconds, then more rounds would go off.

  Every time I moved, it hurt so bad I couldn’t breathe for a second, but I pulled myself forward under the SUV. I slithered out from under it right as a bullet smacked into the ground beside me, spraying my face with grit.

  I stood up and finally got my pistol out of my holster. I recognized one of Marshall’s thugs over by the combine, and fired at him, but missed. I was a bit unsteady on my feet.

  I realized someone was screaming “Stop! Stop!”

  I turned and looked back at the bunkhouse door. There was a guy standing there in combat gear. He had a full plate carrier, a helmet, goggles, the whole outfit. He also had a rifle. It wasn’t pointed at me, although I wished it was. It was pointed inside the bunkhouse.

  At Alex.

  “Drop the pistol or I’ll smoke her,” he said.

  They tell you in the police academy, you should never give up your gun, even if your partner is taken hostage. The right thing to do would have been to try to swing around, and as off balance, and in a state of shock as I was, try to plant a bullet in the guy’s face. There was no way he could get both of us. If he shot Alex, I could kill him. If he shot me, that would give Alex time to get to a gun and shoot him.

  Fifty-fifty.

  I should have gone for it.

  Instead I sat the 10mm down on the hood of the SUV in front of me.

  “Step back away from it,” he said. “You, step out, don’t get close, I know all about that Aikido bullshit.”

  Alex came out, her hands over her head. She looked at me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  I shrugged. It was done.

  I turned to see Hubbard walking up with a gun screwed to Burke’s head, followed by Diana leading Casey at gunpoint. Behind them all walked Henderson Marshall, looking worse for wear and barefoot, but free with a smug expression on his face that made me want to kill him even more.

  “John Smith” the computer guy from Hubbard’s safe house drove up in one of the big bro-dozer pickup trucks. He climbed out of the rig and vanished inside the interview room for a minute. When he came out, he held Casey’s laptop with the thumb drive still sticking out of the side.

  Robert was led out of the infirmary at gunpoint, blood streaming from a fresh cut on his forehead.

  “The old guy’s out cold. I took his gun,” Marshall’s operator said. I saw Dale’s battered old Combat Commander tucked behind a strap on his vest. That pissed me off even more. The old guy had bought that gun for himself as a present for surviving Vietnam and had carried it ever since. This punk had no right taking it from him.

  Then came Dalton, lead by the last pair of Hubbard’s goons. There were still Taser barbs in his back, connected to the Taser one of the mercenaries was carrying.

  Dalton caught my eye. He looked like hell.

  “Jack?” I asked.

  He just shook his head.

  Casey saw Henry’s body and gave a low moan. Hubbard and Diana pushed Casey and Burke towards us. Casey stumbled into me and surprised me by sticking out her tongue. I got the briefest glimpse of an SD card on her tongue before she pulled it back in again. I tried to keep my face neutral and watched out of the corner of my eye. Her jaw worked slightly as she tucked the card into her cheek.

  There were six of them. Hubbard, Smith, Diana, and the three thugs, along with Marshall who still had a shit-eating grin on his face. Hubbard managed to look aristocratic, even in combat gear. He had a chromed Browning Hi-Power in his hand, not quite pointed at Burke.

  “Now how should we play this?” Hubbard said. “It’s rare that I get an opportunity to solve so many problems at once.”

  Smith was balancing Casey’s laptop on one hand and typing with the other.

  “There’s no sign they uploaded the file anywhere,” he said.

  “I heard her say the connection wasn’t good enough, and she needed to adjust something,” Marshall said with a nod towards Casey.

  “Excellent,” Hubbard said. He holstered the Hi-Power, then pulled Dale’s .45 out of the front of his lackey’s vest. He turned, pointed it at Marshall’s face, and pulled the trigger. Marshall dropped like a puppet with cut strings. The sound of the shot echoed off the hills beyond the pasture.

  “Now the money is all yours,” I said. I was glad to see Marshall dead, but I wished I’d been the one to pull the trigger.

  “Now everything will be all mine,” Hubbard said. “One loose end down, seven more to go.”

  “I’m a US Attorney,” Burke said. “What are you going to do? Murder me? That’s a bit much even for you.”

  Hubbard smiled expansively. “No my dear. This group of criminals and psychopaths is going to murder you, and then kill each other in a dispute over the money you squirreled away from the airplane. We were never here.”

  Around me, everyone tensed. It was all I could do to stay standing. I felt sick and weak. Big drops of blood were dripping off my fingers and leaving quarter sized stains in the g
ravel. Every time I breathed, I felt like someone was running a red-hot poker through my arm and into my chest.

  “This isn’t going to work,” Burke said.

  “I’m wiling to bet it will,” Hubbard said. “You saw those lists of names. No one is going to be particularly enthused to investigate your death too closely. We’ll construct some kind of narrative that fits. People will swallow it like children taking their medicine. Within some number of weeks, some new atrocity will capture everyone’s attention.”

  I still had a gun. My little five-shot Smith and Wesson rode in my right front pants pocket. There were six of them, seven of us. But Robert and I had both been shot recently. Dalton and Dale could barely walk. I didn’t know if anybody else had a hideout gun, but even if they did, it didn’t look good.

  “Go get the old guy,” Hubbard said to the youngest of his three mercenaries. “Drag him out here if you have to. We have to set this up just right.”

  The guy let his rifle hang around his neck and turned to walk off. I felt a sick feeling, both from my wound, and the realization that this was it. As soon as the guy walked off to get Dale, there would be one less gun pointed at us. I wouldn’t get a better chance than that. Mentally, I rehearsed the mechanics of getting the little revolver out of my pocket. I’d shoot Hubbard first, I decided.

  I tried to shove Alex out of my mind. She was about to die, and I was going to have to watch. I tried not to think about it.

  I took a deep breath and flexed the fingers of my right hand.

  “Stop,” Diana said. She brought her gun up and pointed it at Hubbard. “We’re not doing this.”

  I felt a wave of dizziness pass over me. If nothing else, it was good to see Hubbard’s facade crack, even if it was just for a second.

  “What’s this?” he said. The three goons, all brought their guns up, realized they were pointing them at their boss and lowered their muzzles.

  “We’re not doing this. We’re not committing mass murder and walking away,” Diana said.

  “Growing a conscience? Or do you just want more money.”

  “Give me the thumb drive,” she said. She held out a hand. Smith pulled the thumb drive out of the computer and looked at his boss.

  “I really don’t think you’ll shoot me,” Hubbard said. He jerked his chin towards the three men with rifles. “They’ll cut you down before I hit the ground.”

  “The FBI is on its way,” Diana said. “I sent the message as we were sneaking onto the property.”

  A flicker of understanding and annoyance crossed Hubbard's face.

  “I see. So Mack wasn’t the only turncoat.”

  She sneered. “I’m not a turncoat. I was never yours to begin with, you piece of shit.”

  “I can only guess who you are really working for,” Hubbard said. He turned towards her slowly, careful to keep his hands up. “We’ve got quite the impasse. If you shoot me, my boys will cut you down. If we wait for the FBI, we all have much explaining to do. I don’t care who you’re really working for Diana, you’re not blameless. I’ve got video. On a secure server.”

  Diana looked past him, at the three goons. “Put your guns down. You guys are just contractors. You can surrender to the FBI when they get here and you’ll be fine.”

  The leader brought his rifle up.

  “Or we could just smoke you in the head and take our chances that your finger won’t pull that trigger once your brains hit the gravel.”

  He had a point. A rifle bullet to the head had an excellent chance of destroying the centers of the brain that would send a nerve impulse to her trigger finger. I’d trained for that shot, and there was no doubt he had too.

  Diana was pale, and sweat ran down her face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alex turn her head, look at something behind us, and quickly turn back again. I realized the mercenaries were all focused on Diana, not on us. I wondered if we should try to make a move.

  I was unsteady on my feet, and a bone-tired lassitude was creeping its way through my body. I just wanted to lie down for a while and sleep.

  Something sailed through the air and landed between us and Hubbard with a thud. I had just enough time to realize it was a flashbang grenade. Alex pulled some kind of Aikido move on me and swept me to the ground. She turned me so I landed on my right side, instead of my injured left arm, and fell so her body was covering my head.

  The blast was still like getting hit in the head with a hammer. My hearing shut down and I saw stars. Pieces of gravel stung my skin.

  Alex rolled off me, and I sat up, digging in my pocket for my little revolver. One of the mercenaries was on the ground with his hands over his ears. The other two looked dazed but were on their feet. Smith was on the ground in the fetal position. Diana was running, seemingly unaffected by the grenade blast. Hubbard, swaying on his feet, pegged a couple of shots at her.

  One of the mercenaries seemed to be recovering quicker than the other. He started to raise his rifle towards Diana. I brought the revolver up to eye level, wiling my eyes to focus on the front sight. His head exploded in a spray of gore and he dropped. I saw Rudder standing there with his old Garand that looked as long as he was. He charged forward, his mouth open in a scream I couldn’t hear and rammed nearly a foot of bayonet through the second mercenary’s throat. He pulled the rifle back, and butt stroked the guy across the face.

  Alex, Robert, and Dalton all dove for the third guy. They pinned him to the ground and Dalton struggled to get the rifle away from him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dale sitting in the doorway of the infirmary with Rudder’s old Victory model revolver in his hands. We had thrown Robert’s vest in the corner when we tended his wounds. Dale must have pulled the grenade out of the webbing.

  Hubbard turned and aimed at the knot of people struggling on the ground. I managed to get the front sight of the Smith and Wesson on his chest and jerked the trigger. It was a poor shot, and I realized the light wadcutter round probably just flattened on the ceramic plate of his armor, but it got his attention. Hubbard turned, vaulted over Burke who was still on the ground and ran.

  I squeezed off another shot, aiming for the back of his head this time. When he didn’t hit the ground, I knew I’d missed.

  The world spun as I fought to my feet. Rudder circled the pile of people on the ground, blood dripping from his bayonet. Alex smashed a hammer fist into to the guy’s face and he went limp.

  I lurched after Hubbard. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, and expected to hit the ground with each step I took. He ran to the door of the big bro-dozer pickup truck and yanked it open. He saw me coming after him and fired a couple of rounds at me. I didn’t even try to get out of the way, just kept shambling towards him. I didn’t feel anything slam into me, so I figured he missed or I was past the point of feeling pain. He looked scared and I took a grim satisfaction at that.

  I squeezed off another shot while he was behind the open door. The window shattered, and I saw him stumble. Dale’s pistol hit the ground, but Hubbard kept climbing into the truck. The wadcutter rounds in the Smith and Wesson were soft lead, and low velocity, so I knew they weren’t likely to make it through the thick auto glass of the windshield. I tried to run, but only managed a fast shuffle.

  My vision narrowed to a dark tunnel. The only thing I could see was Hubbard. His left hand was pressed to the side of his neck, and blood welled from around his fingers. I made it to the front bumper when the engine roared to life. I could barely hear the big diesel over the whooshing sound in my ears. Out of desperation, I fired a shot, but I was moving and it hit the door pillar. A piece of trim blew off and hit Hubbard in the forehead, but other than that, it had no effect.

  I reached for the doorframe with my bad arm, cutting my hand on the broken glass. I stuck the little gun through the window. I was focused on his left eye, but Hubbard batted it away just as I pulled the trigger. The gun went off, and the truck lurched backward in reverse.

  I fell down, narrowly avoiding getting run over by
the massive front tire.

  The truck backed up in a circle. I could see Hubbard sitting upright in the driver’s seat, but the truck didn’t accelerate past a walking pace. The rear end swung around in a lazy arc, plowed into a piece of farm equipment and stopped.

  The driver’s side was facing me. Lying on my side, I raised the gun, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell on an empty chamber.

  I made myself kneel and transferred the empty gun to my blood slick left hand. I promptly dropped it. I picked it back up with my right hand and swung out the cylinder. I managed to hit the ejector rod with my numb left hand and a couple empty cartridge cases popped out. I stuck the gun in the waistband of my jeans, dug a speed strip of new ammo out of my pocket and shoved a pair of fresh cartridges into the cylinder. Hopefully, that would be enough.

  I pushed myself up, and pitched forward, skinning my face on the gravel. I took a couple of breaths, and with a scream, got to my feet. It was hard to walk in a straight line because everything kept spinning, but I continued my zombie shuffle forward with the gun pushed out in front of me. I tried to keep the front sight on Hubbard, but it kept waving around in a wide figure eight, so I just kept walking forward.

  Hubbard was thrashing around in the driver’s seat. He threw the truck into drive, but the bumper was hung up on the old cultivator, and the wheel’s just spun. He gave up on that and pulled his pistol. The muzzle of the Hi-Power spat flame, but apparently he was in no better shape than me, because the bullet threw up a spray of gravel in front of me.

  I pulled the trigger, but the hammer fell on one of the empty chambers. He fired again, and I felt something brush past my ear. I was close enough now to see the Browning was jammed. A spent shell casing stuck up out of the half-closed slide like a stove pipe. He looked at it owlishly. There was a big hole in the left side of his jaw and cheek, where one of my shots had connected, and blood ran from his neck.

  Just a few feet from the window, I stopped, raised the gun, and willed the front sight not to move. The shot broke right when the sight was over his ear. Hubbard’s hand’s flew up, and the Browning dropped from his fingers. He thrashed spasmodically. I knew he was probably done, that the movement was just random brain activity, but I wanted to be sure. I took a couple more steps and pulled the trigger again. Click. Another empty chamber. Then another.